


Odd Family Delivery

by whimsicalmuse



Series: Odd Family Fanfiction [2]
Category: Ask the Odd Family from Asgard, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Crack, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:24:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki goes into labor. And some other stuff. Like stuffing. And Spider-Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odd Family Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so I told myself I would write No More Odd Family Fanfic. I lied. I wrote this when the time of the year was more relevant but the holidays, birthdays, and sick interfered. Sorry. 
> 
> I dedicate this claricechiarasorcha. She should know why. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to my awesome assistant suspectedbooklegger for the beta!

In the end, Loki mused, it was probably a good thing that it was snowing. That, along with the…fluid, seemed to aide in extinguishing the fires. Naught could be done for the unusual blizzard, but then he denied any part of that bit of trouble. They ought to take that up with the Odinson. Not that Loki could see what the fuss was about. It worked out, after all, and mortal buildings were hardly monuments worthy of respect. Loki’s only regret, a slight pang to join the chorus of hurts in places on his person he’d rather not think about, was that his beloved Saks Fifth Avenue was a casualty in the entire debacle.

But at least he had his prize, and a shiny newborn heir to boot.

It was likely The Soldier’s blasted cooking that did him in. Thor had insisted on hosting the Thanksgiving celebration in their apartment that year, as Loki refused to be seen in public unless under extreme duress. (Such as when he ran out of his favorite ice cream and Thor was off on some blundering mission. He might have used his magic to summon it, but pregnancy had an adverse impact on his accuracy, and the last time he summoned ice cream he was left with disgruntled cow and a churning bucket.)

“Vanity,” Thor chided upon hearing his refusal, inciting Loki to throw forks like daggers at him.

“Practicality,” Loki had sneered as he unfolded himself onto their couch. Said couch had a lean to it, as one of the delicate legs had crumbled under the 3rd trimester weight of the Trickster God, but Loki would not admit to being responsible for this upon pain of death. “I am the size of a bilgesnipe—no, don’t deny it, I have eyes. How those maggots at Shield would love to see me now: swollen with your get, ugly and miserable. One look from the lot of them and I would set fire to the whole place and you’d most certainly act put upon. No, staying home is a safer option for everyone.”

Thor shuffled in place. Loki knew his conundrum. Stark’s table was long and plentiful, one of the few establishments in the city that could satisfy his mighty appetite. Staying in would mean no fancy dinner, as Loki was in no condition to keep himself up all hours working on a multiple course meal for a crowd and could not be trusted to magic a meal. They could order in, but all delivery options within an 8 mile radius refused to serve them anymore, as Loki was of the habit to take his pregnancy related frustrations out on tardy delivery persons. Three lawsuits, assault charges, a SHEILD cover up, and a messy stain in the carpet later, if Thor wanted takeaway, he’d have to travel a bit. But it was snowing, and he’d spent an awful long time on his hair.

“Mayhap we could host the affair here, Loki?”

“Here?” Loki narrowed his eyes. “You desire the company of those imbeciles so close to my time? Breathing, shedding, and spreading pestilence through our home after I finally deemed it suitable for our child?”

That was a bit of an understatement. Thor put his foot down on the marathon cleaning fit when he woke up to find that Loki had chanced a cleansing spell on every inch of Thor while he was sleeping.

Every inch. Internally and externally.

A man had limits, and farting soap bubbles was, it would seem, the line for the Thunderer. Though, perhaps he found it less agreeable because the cleaning solution was more acidic than Loki intended. He struggled to see what the fuss was about, the burns healed as soon as they set, anyway, thanks to their superior physiology.

“Yes, here, Loki. We are not vulnerable to mortal ailments.”

Loki glowered, and Thor cut his rant short with a hand.

“We can bar them from entry to the nursery and our bed chambers, and hire a cleaning service after.”

“Cleaning service,” Loki chortled. “Have you forgotten already?”

Thor ground his teeth. “Worry not, husband. I swear I will see to it that your home is fit for our baby at the end of the Giving Thanks feast.”

A feast both Thor and Loki struggled to understand, in truth. It was expected to regale in your victories after a conquest, but considered gauche to fetishise and recapture long gone glories of pillaging and genocide year after year. If the information found on the Tumblr (Loki) and Facebook (Thor) was any indicator, then the whole matter was a rather tasteless affair. At least, both parties were fairly certain this was the case; there were still many language barriers that arose when they perused the internets.

Still, as Asgardians, they had no compunction about inhaling whole roasted fowl, spiced mushed bread, pies, and The Soldier’s special Casserole of green beans, on a yearly basis. And, as far as Loki was concerned, the best part of the Giving Thanks celebration was Black Friday. That bastion of chaos, vindictive competitiveness, and deep bargains on haute couture. The mere thought made Loki shiver in anticipation not unlike that which he felt before a rousing tumble with Thor.

“Are you listening to a word I said, brother? Do I have your permission?”

Decisions. Should he refuse the oaf, then he would mope around the house for hours, and likely hunger would drive to uproot all of his stashes of vittles, like the swine he was, and regrettably, if he ate all of the dried fish, chocolate, and cookies again, Loki would have to eviscerate him. On the other hand, he could allow Thor to bring his shield mates over. He did so enjoy making Stark feel uncomfortable, and he could command Barton to make him cookies and smuggle his favorite Frappuccino. How he missed them. Thor read that the energizing substance in the drink was harmful to the unborn, and when forbidding Loki to purchase them quickly proved useless, he stormed every establishment that sold the drink and declared, that to serve Loki the foul drink was to threaten the heir to Asgard, and to threaten the heir of Asgard was to incur the wrath of Thor. To emphasize this point, his irrational, volatile temper caused 6 spontaneous synchronized hailstorms that cut power to 3 burrows, and left holes the size of boulders.

Suffice to say he got his point across, and no one, for love, money, or their life, would serve him. The baby kicked him in the ribcage and his stomach, which was perpetually hungry of late, gurgled and settled the matter.

“Fine,” He sighed, feigning exasperation. “Have your feast here, but trim the guest list, yes? We cannot fit all the wastrels that Stark is in the habit of communing with.”

Thor’s smile was beatific, and Loki took advantage of his good mood to wheedle him into rubbing his feet. A foot rub, which soon turned into an all-out pedicure, much to Loki’s delight.

Thus, Stark’s servants arrived at dawn the day of Thanksgiving, laden with gleaming trays linens, and tables. By midday food arrived, still steaming, and was artfully arranged onto fine silver platters, and then the Avengers made their appearances, laden with drinks, pies, and other sweets.

Loki only chanced a few glances at the crew and the servants, as he was preoccupied with perusing the latest information on the Black Friday sales. The Catwoman had tipped him off about an ultra-exclusive and luxurious pram that was to be unveiled at Sak’s Fifth Avenue at midnight. The pram was fit for kings, literally, as it was, thus far, only in the possession of Midgardian royalty. The handlebar was wrapped with leather and adorned with gold thread. The seat covers were calf’s leather, cashmere, and silks for summer. The suspension was fine-tuned, not necessarily equipped to handle any terrain, but certainly prepared to look fabulous whilst trying. More importantly, the pram looked elegant, exclusive, expensive, and rare. So of course, Loki demanded it for his baby. He would have simply gone to subjugate the manager, who knew him very well, but the last time he’d tried to visit his favorite haunt the mortals gawked at a heavily pregnant slightly developed man. Perhaps it was the SHEILD entourage Thor had commanded to tail him. Perhaps they recognized him from his failed mission those years ago. Whatever the case, there were too many witnesses to attempt it. He was not afraid that they could stop him; he feared that his unstable magic would fail, and they would see. Worst still, they would likely tell others, and within an hour his villainous colleagues would know he was greatly weakened. Doom would be unbearable. The biweekly poker games were awkward enough, what with him carrying Thor’s child. He would never live that down; he could not endure further disgrace. So, he decided he would chance another venture to Saks on Black Friday, and he would procure that pram. The trick was to ensure he did not have an audience when he did so, as it was likely to get messy.

“Jesus, Loki, you’ve got to be hauling a dinosaur around in that belly,” Stark declared when he deigned to arrive to the party he was supposed to be throwing.

“I hope your entrails blister and your testicles wither and fall off like so much rotten fruit,” Loki replied.

“Eating,” The Spider woman complained around a mouthful of squash with cream and organic sage. Thor could say what he would, but Pinterest was a veritable treasure trove for succulent recipes.

“Tony,” Thor clapped the smaller man on the shoulder, sending him flying a few feet, only to be steadied by Barton. “You have my thanks for arranging for this feast. The fare is excellent, and I would not have wanted to miss communing with you all.”

“I can imagine,” Stark snorted with a pointed look at Loki. Loki might have taken the bait, but he was busy shooting daggers at the Lady Jane and her minion. Thor had conveniently neglected to mention her invitation. He would pay for that later. “I’m glad it worked out, because I am so hungry I could eat a horse.”

Loki’s flinch at the mention of horse was thoroughly involuntary, which only served to annoy him. He would pay for that later, too.

“Loki, can I get you anything?” Rogers asked as he rose to clear his plate. For all of his proselytizing the virtue of The Side of Good, he had been of some help to Loki since he grew so enormous he could no longer see his feet. When Loki confronted him on his new found manners, especially as he never hid his general disapproval of the menace, Rogers blushed and stammered out an admission that he was raised better than to upset pregnant…people.

“Yes, thank you, I would dearly love more of that…stuffing? OH! And another turkey please.”

“You mean piece of turkey, right?” Stark blinked.

“No, Tony, he means turkey. It’s his third.” Banner sighed as he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mind your intake, Loki. With all of your sweets, I’m still not wholly convinced that you’re not suffering from gestational diabetes. I just have no baseline of Jotun physiology to compare.”

“Mind your business,” Loki retorted. “I know my limits.”

“Exactly,” Banner agreed. “You know them so you can fly right past them clean off into the deep end. Too much salt can exacerbate latent pregnancy induced hypertension, diabetes can put you in a coma, and too much food in general can send you to the bathroom and induce labor, did you know that?”

“Midwives’ tales,” Loki clucked his tongue. “I promise I shan’t birth this baby here tonight. This food hasn’t so much as aroused the slightest bit of wind in me, and I’ve had that nonstop almost since the pregnancy was confirmed.”

“Verily,” Thor shook his head. “The likes of which surely could be harnessed as a lethal weapon for warfare. Why, last week he burned a hole in—“

“That will do thanks.” Natasha interjected as she wiped her full mouth daintily. “Digesting and all that.”

“My apologies, Lady Natasha.” Thor bowed his head.

Rogers returned with his turkey, which, in Loki’s humble opinion, was little more than an overgrown baby compared to the fowl they roasted in Asgard. His plate was heaped with the spicy, meat and vegetable laden stuffing Rogers was especially proud of, along with an assortment of other treats he knew Loki enjoyed. Loki gifted him with something close to a small smile, and then heaved himself from his chair, ignoring the obscene groaning the furniture made in favor of swatting the many hands that sprung up to assist him.

“I am pregnant,” he sniffed. “Not an invalid.”

“False,” Stark replied with a smug smile as he popped a grape into his infuriating maw. “The two are one in the same at this stage, buddy.”

Loki’s fingers flexed to administer a very unkind message, but Thomas appeared, spindly arms gesturing to guide Loki away from Stark’s throat, and over to his throne. Said throne was an armchair tucked in a cozy corner, as far from the dining area as possible. He watched delicate snowflakes float down, clinging to the window, and coating the sidewalk. The baby squirmed inside him, and a moment later he felt a dull twinge low in back, which traveled around front to settle low on his abdomen. He frowned. Perhaps Banner had been correct in suggesting that the rich food might give him indigestion.

He glanced at the clock. He would need to depart in an hour, which meant he would have to unroll his plans to subdue the Avengers. If he tried to leave on his own Thor would try to stop him, and an unnecessary and time wasting altercation would unfold. No, much easier to put them down and go about his business. He clapped eyes with Barton and subtly gestured him over. The archer had something he desired. Something deeply forbidden.  
Barton shuffled over, on the pretense of admiring the snow, his arms folded behind his back.

“I trust that you delivered?”

“Always,” Barton replied cheekily. “Though it will cost you?”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I am of a mind to entertain negotiations?”

“No negotiations,” With a sleight of hand Barton produced the Trenta Chocolate Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino, and a slice of lemon loaf. “Just, consider that ‘Clint’ would make a lovely middle name.”

Loki stopped halfway through inhaling the drink to blink at his minion. “You are serious?”

Barton smiled enigmatically and slithered away, leaving his Boss to his drink and sweets.

True to form, Thomas came to annoy him not long after. He wanted to discuss his reprisal of Loki’s character on the moving pictures the Midgardians had made about the Avengers and their villains. Less than five minutes into the conversation Loki felt his head pound from his elevated blood pressure, and waddled across the room, down the hallway, luring Tom to follow him. When they were in front of his preferred closet, he struck like a python, grabbing Thomas by the collar and unceremoniously tossing the man into the closet. He even chanced a bit of magic to reinforce the lock. Then, he went to the kitchens, and helped administer the glasses of wine Stark had called for. The wait staff looked on warily, but none dared to speak out against him. To assuage their nerves, he took a sip of Thor’s glass before handing to his husband, smiling when they visibly relaxed. Then, he sat back and watched Stark make a poorly attempt at a speech and toast. He thanked the staff and called for them to fill their glasses as well. When everyone raised their glass in salute, Loki did a series of complicated but subtle hand movements. None but the sharpest eye would have caught the subtle glimmer deep within the crimson liquid. All took a deep hearty sip of the fine wine, which was enhanced a bit taste wise by Loki’s seiðr, and Loki pulled his near empty Frappuccino cup from his robe’s pocket, and slurped noisily at the chocolaty dregs.

“Loki,” Thor growled, but it was slurred, and thick like honey.

“What have you…?” Banner frowned, before smacking his lips. “Wait, how did you lace our wine with…with weed?”

“I find it best to go directly to the source in these matters, Doctor.” Loki replied, as he tossed his cup into the trash. “And those chemistry books you loaned me were ever so helpful.”

“Wha…where…” Stark tried to swipe at Loki’s leering face, and missed by a mile.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but alas, I have a date with a midnight sale, and I know you lot would try to do something foolish and noble like stop me from going.” He gave them a little finger wave. “Don’t fret, I shall return not long after midnight, if everything goes to plan. And I’m taking young Thomas with me, just in case.”

Thor staggered after him, tripping on nothing, and overturning the dining table, which was still laden with the carcasses of their hearty meal. He landed with a mighty thud and a not so mighty whimper.

***

“Loki, I…I’m afraid—I don’t think you have thought this through much.” Thomas said sheepishly as they filed through glistening dumpsters. “I’m not overly fond of breaking and entry, and when Thor wakes up he will be VERY cross with you, and by proxy, anyone who aided you.”

“Nonsense,” Loki waved as he placed a pale hand against the door’s locking mechanism. The door glowed, ethereal and blue, and then sheen of cruel looking ice coated the whole thing. Loki used Tom’s arm to steady himself, and gave the door an almighty kick. The brittle metal and wood shattered into tiny shards, exposing a warm, dimly lit hallway. “Think of this as preparation for your role. You want to know how I do what I do, to make it more authentic? Well, now you have a front row seat.”

He pulled Thomas by the scarf, a lovely cashmere piece in shades of green and black, silently vowing to steal it before the day was over. His back twinged again as he stepped over what remained of the door. Once again the pain radiated toward the front. He ignored it. Likely the indigestion again.

Stealth and the bloodthirsty crowds that pressed against the front door proved to be a timely distraction for the pair as they hid in shadow, ducking and weaving between racks and mannequins in the men’s accessories section along the far wall.

“Doors open up in 5,” a man with a clipboard and earpiece announced as he darted from section to section, adjusting mirrors, slight creases in clothes, and display prices. Thomas and Loki had to hide among a winter coat rack in order to avoid discovery. They inched on their hands and knees as they heard the countdown outside, and when they rounded the corner that would put them in full view of the baby section their luck ran out as they collided with a sales person.

“Hey,” The petite woman frowned. “You’re not supposed to be in here! Securi—OOMPH!”

Loki cursed under his breath as he shoved her out of his path. She landed flat on her ass, shoes askew, limbs tangled in socks and ties. But her alarm had been heard. Just as the doors burst open, two burly sentries appeared not 20 feet from them. People flooded all the aisles, a grasping, squirming, clawing horde, and Loki and Thomas made a run for it.

“So sorry,” Thomas cringed, as he tossed a mannequin from the display, in an effort to thwart their progress. “Much apologies, really.”

Loki had no compunction about such matters, and tossed an elderly man back like a sack of potatoes, nailing one of the two sentries. “My hip, ah, God, my hiiiiiiiiiiip.” The elder croaked.

Loki felt a slight pang of guilt, cursed Thor, and with a snap of his fingers, willed the man’s bones to mend. There was a loud crack, and as the elder gasped in relief, the sentry beneath him wailed in agony.

“MY BACK.”

“Everyone is a critic,” Loki sniffed as he tossed people aside. The swarm of people was getting thick; there were enough of them to jostle him now, thanks to the planet in his belly, and his altered center of gravity. He could see the outline of the monolithic pram display. There were too many people. He would need to make an aerial attack.

“Thomas,” He pulled the young man close to him, breathing heavily. The exertion from the run, and the pains that warned of an eminent need to defecate took something out of him. “Hoist me up.”

Tom blinked, Loki shook him violently, and then he grunted his assent as The Trickster hefted one long leg up on the cosmetic display counter. “On three,” Loki instructed, his fingers digging into the other side of the counter for leverage. “One, two, three—“

Thomas pushed, Loki pulled, but his girth was something to be reckoned with, and for a moment he feared that he was too fat to make it.

“Harder, Thomas!” He cried, sweating from the new pains, as well as the strain on his muscles. With a cry, his doppelgänger hoisted him up enough for Loki to climb and steady himself. The glass cracked beneath him, temperamental and delicate as an icy lake, and Loki took a gentle step on the other display to distribute his weight. Thomas was being pulled in the tide of bodies, so Loki bent and pulled him up by the arm with relative ease, depositing him on the display case behind him. He scanned the horizon, mapping out his plan of attack, and then took in the glorious sight of his quarry. It was just gorgeous, propped up like the king of the mountain on a multi-tier display that spun in a lazy circle. He clapped his hands with glee.

“Come, Thomas!”

He leaped from case to case, like an ungainly gazelle, his coat swinging behind him. He miscalculated a leap between cosmetics and handbags, landed on a swath of writhing bodies, and that cost him some time, but he managed to get back on his feet and onto the display tables, using the mortal’s bodies as a step stool. Thomas was right behind him.

He rounded the corner of the second handbag display, and that’s when he saw her. Competition. She was heavily pregnant too, her hair coifed, her red nails gleaming in the fairy lights. He did not know her name, did not need to, what he did know was that she had exquisite taste, and the habit of beating him to a purchase more often than he cared to admit. He would not allow her to his pram. They broke into an awkward sprint at the same time, shoving people aside. He had the advantage of height, but she had the advantage of proximity, and as such they arrived at the base of the display at the same time. Loki’s stomach tensed, tighter than a python’s grip, and then shuddered, unleashing a white-hot flare of agony that crackled like lightening from his navel to his nether region. He gasped from the shock of the pain, and stumbled, and the woman took her moment to climb another step up. He shook himself, still panting, and clawed his way up. Other mortals were beneath him, grasping at his ankles and he kicked them off. He reached the final step, pulling a pregnant woman along with him, and as his fingers wrapped round the buttery soft leather handle bar, the woman bit into his ankle, and the other hag grasped the canopy.

Thunder boomed outside, so sonorous and threatening that the walls shook and a few glass windows burst. Loki’s stomach tensed again, liquid fire making his knees weak, and he felt bile rise to his throat. He kicked off the pregnant woman; she landed on top of Thomas, and then pulled at the pram.

“Let go, or I shall skin you, woman.” He hissed to his adversary.

“Why should I?” She puffed, claws nearly tearing at the fabric. “What the hell do you need a stroller like this for anyway?”

“None of your concern,” he pulled again, she lost her balance, and fell down a step with a screech. He hefted his pram up, grinning in victory, just as Thor crashed through the ceiling. He landed on the next wave of security that had been called to subdue Loki.

“Husband, I am wroth with you,” The God-King (to be) growled, as he parted the sea of people with the slightest wave of his arm. “These people are mad, there is bedlam in every aisle, and an unnatural thunder chokes the air.”

Loki frowned, and lowered his pram a fraction. “It is by no sorcery of mine, Thor. Much as I would love to take credit for this madness, this is the product of abject consumerism. As for the thunder, I assumed you were to blame.”

They both looked at the disguised lump beneath his great coat. The woman used his distraction to make a final play, and jumped onto the top tier again. She got her claws deep into the material again, gave a tug, which made Loki take an involuntary step. He hefted his leg up onto the small tier the pram was displayed on, eyes flashing red (literally), and opened his mouth to send her flying. But a fresh pain rippled across his stomach and back, and then he felt as if a stone had been dropped from betwixt his legs, and his bag of waters broke. Rivers of salt water gushed, a veritable flash flood, scooping up the mortals and carrying them away like flotsam. The newfound sea caught his adversary about the ankles, and pulled her away, far from his pram. Thomas clung to a display counter as best he could, as the flood kept coming, and Loki doubled over, letting out a pained hiss. Now, he could concede, this was likely more than mere indigestion.

The water connected with the electrical outlets, sparks flew, and the winter collection went up in flames faster than a blink. Fire crawled up the wall, like a living thing, devouring all in its wake. Lightening flashed, multilayered branches of a tree, connecting with the water that spilled from him as a storm raged within his womb. The charged water connected with power lines as it flowed from the department store, and the lightening flashed, striking surrounding buildings, almost in tandem with the flames from Saks. The baby kicked with a force so violent he stumbled.

“Loki,” Thor roared. “Come, it is your time!” He flew across the amniotic sea, and pulled at his husband.

Loki’s coat dangled off a shoulder, and Thomas used it as a grip to pull himself up from the water. He was soggy, and smelled of brine, winter, and ozone. Mortals poured from the building below, scattered like ants that have been smoked out.

“What about the others?” Thomas yelled over the screams, the whoosh of greedy flames, and crackle of lightening.

“My comrades are here,” Thor yelled. “They will aid the fire brigade in subduing these flames, and then join us. And I will do what I can.”

On cue the delicate snow that had been peppering windowsills and sidewalks tapered off, and gale winds began to howl. An almighty flash of white blinded people outside, and then a deep guttural crescendo of thunder rolled, making teeth chatter and bellies throb. There was a loaded pause and then the storm broke. Buckets of snow flew from the skies, making some of the fires sputter and die. Visibility was low, and just as Thor turned to surge into the winds he connected solidly with a slight frame. There was a yelp, some flailing, a flash of red and blue, and then Tom was groaning as thin fingers grasped his ankles.

“Damn you, Spider Child!” Loki huffed. “Could you not see us?”

“It's not normal for two gods and a Muppet to be floating through the air in the middle of a damned blizzard, _Your Highness_ ,” The teen sassed. “I’m just glad I made out without breaking any bones.”

Thor swung too close to a building; there was a howl of pain, and then, “Awww, man. I spoke too soon.”  
Loki ignored him, as no one could possibly be in as much pain as he was. And he did not appreciate the frantic flight through this mess.

“You might have considered that consequence ere you tramped out with poor Thomas in the search of…what? A carriage for infants?” Thor laughed despite the worry lines etched around his mouth. “Surely you could have made a carriage as fine as this and not caused undue harm to midtown again?”

Loki had the good grace to seem a bit sheepish. “You miss the point as ever. This is a special pram, Thor. Fit for kings and princes. I could not bear the thought of our son not having one.”  
“Son?” Thor smiled widely and Loki chewed his lip. “You never told me…”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” He muttered, and then winced as a fresh wave overtook him. “No doubt my mind was addled by the damage this overgrown boor is doing within!”

“You deserve that and then some,” his husband rumbled. “And we shall have Words.”  
“Save it for after the birth, if you will,” Loki wheezed. The contractions were coming closer now, so strong that his skin rippled.

Moments later they landed on the helipad atop the roof of the hospital that had been debriefed (read: threatened) by SHIELD. The impact triggered another pain, so potent it knocked the wind out of him and he dropped to one knee. Thor gently pulled him up, and when he went to scoop him into a bridal carry Loki shoved him in the throat and scrambled down. The nearest roof access door burst open, and Banner was running through the sheet of cold flurries toward them. A small army followed.

“Come, hurry!” Tom urged as his arm quaked under the weight of Loki upon it.

Bruce puffed to their side and looked at Loki through his hair. “How far apart?”

“About 5 minutes,” Loki ground out, giving his partner a firm squeeze.

“Good, let’s get in you the chair. There is an elevator just inside—“

“I can walk,” Loki protested.

Thor clapped his neck with his large hand. “Dearest—“

“I said I can wa—Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

A fresh contraction gripped him. He felt a stirring within, and then a wave of raw power coursed out, knocking everyone within a few feet onto their asses. The door behind them crumpled and hung from the jam at an awkward angle. Sweat dripped from his upper lip and he ignored The Look his husband was giving him.  
“The chair.” Said the Thunderer, in a tone that brooked no argument.

***

Setup was an exercise in awkwardness. Loki choked a few nurses when they tried to start a line and apply an external monitor around his middle. The wild terror in his eyes aroused Thor’s ire, and when security came forth he held two burly men by the throat, the third pressed beneath his boot.

“You will explain these Midgardian contraptions,” He growled, his nerves frayed by the pained noises his love was making.

“Nothing harmful, Thor.” Bruce sighed. “The pink and blue bands are so we can hear the baby’s heartbeat—“

“I can hear him!” Loki hissed, and the rails he held onto cracked in his sweaty palms. Tom, who was white as a sheet, wiped his brow. Spider Man limped across the room to fetch water.

“Yes, but we can’t, and you might be so distracted by, I dunno, _PUSHING THE BABY OUT_ that you might not hear if something has gone wrong.”

Loki opened his mouth to complain but another hit and shut him up.

“And these barbaric pinpricks?” Thor pressed.

“To give Loki fluids and nutrients in case the labor lasts long.”

“Unnecessary,” Loki wheezed. “I could labor for weeks before I would require sustenance.”

“ _Will_ you labor for weeks?” Bruce croaked.

“Possibly,” Thor said.

At the same time Loki replied, “No!”

They looked at one another, and then a contraction hit.

“Listen, we’ll 86 the IV, but please, for me, keep the monitor on.”

Loki licked his dry lips and nodded.

No nurse was yet willing to approach the God so Dr. Banner did the deed. A large machine beside the bed flared into life and then thunderous sound of a rapid heartbeat filled the room. Thor wiped a tear.

“He sounds strong,” Tom grinned.

“Of course he is strong,” Loki sniffed. “He is of Asgard, and the heir to the throne.”

The next hour was a blur of stifled screams, sweat, and the cacophony of heartbeats, louder than the rush of a thousand horses. Banner left the room when Loki’s screams broke all the glass within, and returned some twenty minutes later with glassy eyes, and smelling heavily of herbs.

One brave nurse finally volunteered to attend Loki along with Bruce. The collection of doctors that wanted to see this feat of science idled like nervous pigeons on the hall. Loki’s hair clung to his neck and face in inky streaks. The temperature in the room dropped by large increments with every passing moment, and soon their breaths came in steamy clouds, and the whorls of Loki’s lineage appeared across his skin, which had faded to a dusky blue. The Nurse, the Spider-Child, and Thomas, all froze when they saw this new appearance, and hot shame licked up Loki’s throat.

Thor pressed his head against his mate’s, murmured some sickening platitude, and Loki ground his teeth and shoved him away, secretly glad for the distraction.  
Just as Banner began the daunting task of examining Loki, some of the Avengers team returned. Barton got a full view of his former captor’s business in all its’ gory glory, and fainted on the spot. He did not move, for anyone.

The Spider Woman was nonplussed by the sight, as leaned against the space that once held a heavy door, and cocked an eyebrow. “Huh, Stark owes me $50 bucks.”

Thomas and Parker peered warily.

“Dude,” Parker breathed. “How did you—“

“He is a shape shifter, and a Jotun, who are but one gender, I trust you can make the appropriate deductions,” Banner snapped.

The pain was all consuming, or Loki would have reached down to shake Banner violently for exposing him to half of the known Midgardian world. Thor stood behind the doctor to block the view, as if he read Loki’s mind, and Natasha took the hint and began to guard the door against something called “Lookie-loos.”

“Thor,” Banner yelped as he squinted between Loki’s legs. “You probably want to—“ He gestured with his head for Thor to go back to his husband.

Loki’s screams shook everyone to the bone, and his fingertips grew icy claws which shred the sheets, parts of the hospital mattress, and when he was close enough, Thor’s groin area.

“Breathe, Loki.” The infuriating doctor coaxed. “Yes, like that, can you push harder?”

“I’m pushing, damn you!” Loki roared his voice loaded with the force of the storm outside, and possibly channeling the fire demon Sutur.

“You are doing wonderful, my love.” Thor squeaked, still raw between the legs.

“SILENCE! YOU DID THIS TO ME; I WAS A FOOL TO LET YOU.”

“Loki, I can see hair!” Bruce gasped. His glasses had been blown from his face and his hair was blasted in several directions.

“Get back!” Loki wheezed. “I may not be able to maintain…it won’t be safe for you—“

But it was too late. Bruce’s fingertips brushed against Loki to coax the baby’s head out, and the glove was immediately frozen flush against blackening fingertips. Bruce trembled, green flashing vividly in his eyes.

“Parker!” Loki screeched, and the kid took one look at Banner and flailed as he ran to the nearest window and yanked it open.

Thor, without missing a beat, grabbed the shaking physician by the collar and kicked the frame away. “I am sorry, Bruce.” He tossed the man out the window. There was an inhuman roar and a ground shaking thud. Then silence.

Natasha yelled for a doctor, Spiderman gawked at the mess of the unconscious Hulk below, and Tom patted a delirious Loki’s brow. His massive belly quaked, and rippled, and after a moment’s hesitation Thor took Bruce’s place. He broke three pairs of gloves before abandoning the effort.

“Husband—Loki, _look at me_.”

Loki panted; he had gone to a place of cold barren ice lands, and the iron tang of blood. He felt exposed, unsafe, and the pain was unspeakable. Thor grasped his chin.

“Loki!”

He looked up.

“Yes, that’s it. Listen well. Our son, he is nearly here. I know the pain is unbearable, but you must bring him forth to relieve you.”

The pigeon doctors started bobbing their heads in the background, yelping and pointing at the monitor, which was making alarming noises.

“I can’t.” Loki swallowed around his tongue. It felt oversized. “Thor, I can’t, I—“

“You can, and you must,” Thor replied as he repositioned Loki’s legs. “Now, just as the doctor instructed, listen to my voice, look at my eyes!”

Loki didn’t recall birthing Sleipnir being this painful. Water poured from his eyes, only to freeze against his cheek, and he nodded weakly.

“Push Loki—One, two, three—“

Thor counted, just as the doctor had done, and Tom, Parker, and the Valiant Nurse chimed in, alternating from helping Thro count, to saying “Push” in rapid succession. It was unbearable.

Just when Loki thought the pain would make him pass out, it would fade, and Loki tried to catch his breath.

“Of all the luck,” He moaned as he heard the rising tide of his son’s heartbeat, which foretold a fresh contraction. “I did not think to take my herbs---AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

“I’m sorry,” Said the Brave Nurse. “But I wouldn’t even know how much Demerol to give you, and it wouldn’t do much anyway since your blue skin seems to break needles.”

“Cursed Jotun blood,” Loki sobbed in between pushes. “And damn you, Thor, this child—“

Thor didn’t seem to hear him. He was utterly intent on whatever gore he was witnessing betwixt Loki’s legs.

“Once again, Loki and I think he will be out.”

Bile crawled up Loki’s throat. He kept it down, only just, but Thomas didn’t and he was sick on the Nurse’s shoes. Loki barked out a short laugh and whimpered, and then, when Thor commanded him to push again, said some very unkind things, before giving what little reserves of energy he had. His entire middle seized and shuddered. The lights in the entire building flickered, flared, and then went out, just as their son slid from his mother’s womb and into the world.

Blackness enveloped everyone. There was the sound of soft movement, and then a lusty cry, delicate as a lamb’s, filled the room. Loki choked back tears, and failed, Tom fainted, and the generator lights flared on, drenching everyone in an orange glow.

“You have done it, my love.” Thor said in a tight voice. “He is perfect.”

Loki scooped his son into his weak arms, trying to see past the blur of tears to take in his features. He was stunning, a wee little body, a head full of shining black hair, and a pair of wide newborn grey eyes. Loki stroked a finger against a rounded cheek, too overwhelmed by the full hot feeling that welled in his chest to speak. Was this what every mother felt when she looked upon her babe? He felt similar with the others, but there was no bittersweet twinge of sadness. No fear, just blinding, white-hot joy and love.

Thor let an unmanly sob escape, and he crushed Loki and the baby against his chest, and Loki smiled up at him, still quiet. He gave his overjoyed partner a small secret smile, and kissed him.

Things down below were unpleasant, but Loki decided to avoid thinking upon that. Instead he counted every breath, every heartbeat, and every sneeze. He marveled at the fine blue veins on paper-thin eyelids. Caressed the half-moon pearly nails on fingers and toes. Inhaled the milky sweet smell of his skin.

When the urge to sleep hit him he yawned, and Thor took their babe and cooed at him. Their son promptly defecated on Thor’s shirt, and Loki knew he’d brought forth a wonder.

***

An hour later he woke to the sway of his bed, and heard Thor’s heavy footfalls beside him.

“They are taking you to finer quarters, love. It is not fitting for a prince and consort to be in a room with crumbling walls and a broken window.”

“Indeed.” Loki yawned, and drifted back off.

Not long after that he woke to the snuffling sounds of his son on his breast. After a moment of panic he recalled asking Thor for him, and they had their first feed in private, with only the sound of their father’s pacing as a lullaby. Now the God’s snores were the only lullaby he had to offer. Thor had stuffed himself onto an uncomfortable looking chair and propped his feet on the end of Loki’s bed. His mouth was open, and a trail of drool dangled on his chin.

Loki clicked his tongue and murmured something soft to his son. “If you tell anyone I told you this, I shall deny it,” Loki whispered. His boy looked up at him sleepily, and swallowed a mouth full of milk. “I know not what sort of mother I am to be. I have made my share of abysmal mistakes in the past and I am…likely to make many more.” Loki brushed his son’s hair back gently. “Sometimes…sometimes I may run, I may fail you…But I do so love you. So much it hurts…And I promise I will never stop trying…trying my best. For you…and your father.”

Thor chose that moment to snort, and scratched himself in his sleep. Loki rolled his eyes. “For you then.”  
It wasn’t long after that Loki roused Thor by tossing his own boot at his head. And shortly after that his Avenger comrades made their entrance, all save Barton, who was still face down in the wrecked room Loki gave birth in, and Stark, but no one missed him.

Thomas cooed and sniffled. Parker offered a stubby finger, which was graciously accepted. Natasha stared, and the boy stared at her bosom. Banner shuffled in not long after, looking freshly showered and moving slowly as if he was sore in places he’d rather not think about. Loki could relate.

Thor engulfed the man in a bear hug, lifting him 3 feet off the ground, and thanked him for aiding in the birth. Loki simply nodded at him, and considered the fact that he had not killed anyone in the process as thanks enough.

The boy was passed around, (with the obligatory threats from Loki to eviscerate any should they drop the babe, though both parents suspected the short distance would do little to harm either Asgardian or Jotun child). After, Loki settled the lad in his arms, and did nothing to hide his smile. He’d work on recapturing his game face later.

“Do you have a name?” The Spider Woman asked gently.

Thor looked at Loki. They had discussed names. Thor had proposed a name. It was in truth, the same name Loki considered but for vastly different reasons. He withheld his approval because he enjoyed seeing his husband squirm. But now it was time for concessions.

“His name is Erik Thorson,” Loki murmured. Thor grasped his shoulder fondly.

“You look like your dad,” Rogers declared with a smile, and something warm, pleased, and proud spread through Loki’s veins.

Just then the doors burst open with a crash, and the silhouette of Stark’s ridiculous hair cut a contrast against the bright hall lights.

“Tony Stark is in the building!”

“We would have preferred your absence,” Loki muttered, but Thor shushed him.

The man sauntered over to the bed, and stared at their child. Erik peered up at him, nonplussed.

“Whoa, so…it’s like actually a baby.”

What did he think Loki was carrying, a dragon? He decided he didn’t want to know.

“Like actually?”

Loki lowered his eyelids. Behind him Natasha gave Stark her best expression of being displeased by his idiocy. “Yes?”

“Would you like to hold him, Friend Stark?” Thor volunteered.

Tony looked like he wanted to refuse, so Loki allowed Thor to press the issue, though not without explaining in graphic detail, all the pain he would bring Stark should he mishandle their get. The man held the baby awkwardly, sucked in by the serene cool gaze. Loki couldn’t fault him, the babe was flawless.

Stark’s eyes glazed over, his pupils were blown, as they were when he was given too many chocolate-laced beverages from Starbucks, and his cheeks flushed.

“SHO PRECIOUS.”

Loki’s arms twitched to pull their babe back into the safety of their arms. Perhaps the child had unleashed some immature form of sorcery and made Stark into an even bigger simpleton.

“Wow, you’re actually holding a baby,” The Spider Woman said.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” Stark admonished. “You’re going to disturb Pointbreak Junior.”

“Come again?” Loki blinked.

Thor laughed, and scooped his son up. “Aye, it will be a great honor for my son to meet or surpass my greatness.”

Loki snorted. “Let us hope he does not inherit your modesty.”

“I fail to see how you are in a position to admonish anyone about an excess of vanity,” Thor smirked. “ _You_ , who razed a square block as a consequence of your early labor pains, in the misguided quest for a carriage?”

“ _THAT_ was why you went to Saks?” Rogers gasped. “Loki, we could have picked it up for you.”

Loki blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Banner shook his head. “Oh he says. You know Saks is still on fire. I had to give Fury nitroglycerin because I thought he might have a heart attack or stroke out he was so pissed.”

“Don’t care,” Loki replied, as he fussed over his bed linens. “Though…should he perish I would be interested in his overcoat. It is rather fetching.”

“You are a horror, and a wonder, Loki.” Thor shook his head.

Loki looked at his son, a small bundle of light and beauty, and smiled. “I know.”


End file.
